


Second to None

by CoffeeAndTae



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, Rough Sex, Sex, Shower Sex, i miss you sex, needy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6514471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeAndTae/pseuds/CoffeeAndTae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ayato never was good at letting things go, and when you break it off with him because of an insignificant thing like distance, he proves he's worth the miles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second to None

Long distance relationships are notorious for unhappy endings. You and Ayato, as in love as you were – are, experienced that first hand. Despite the fact that you loved him with every fiber of your being, you couldn’t stand to be the person that held him back. You didn’t want to be the cause of him not experiencing his life and living it freely. When you broke up with him, the line went silent for two minutes and you were wondering if he’d hung up when, in the deadest voice you’d ever heard come from him, he asked -

“Why?”

“It’s better this way.” You said, fighting back a sob you knew would come out if you didn’t hold it together.

“Is there someone else?”

You bit your lip and confirmed it with a strained ‘yes’, even though the only person you had eyes for was him. You hoped it would make it easier for him to cut his losses, but you didn’t stay on the line long enough to find out. You pressed the red button on your phone with shaking fingers, and not two seconds after you hung up, his name appeared on the screen again. You shut your phone off completely and spent the night staring at your wall, telling yourself it was for the best.

Two days go by, and you’ve missed more calls from him than you care to count. Each time his name flashes across the screen, you feel your heart drop into your stomach. Three days go by and the phone calls start coming less and less. Four days go by and he’s given up completely. You didn’t blame him.

~

You curl up in your favorite, squashy armchair – the only comfortable surface in your shitty excuse for an apartment. Your friends keep bugging you to go out and get your mind off of things – him – but you’re glad that it’s raining so you have an excuse to be by yourself. You hold a cup of tea that has long since gone cold as if you’re consoling it, absentmindedly bringing the mug to your lips without taking more than few drops in. The bitter liquid spreads across your tongue, but you hardly notice the taste.

A loud clap of thunder brings you to your senses, and the remnants of the tea end up on your floor from the jump it gives you. The cup, along with any trace of motivation you have to actually do something, lays shattered on the ground. Deciding you’d like to avoid a slice to the foot, you get up to dispose of the offending shards. As you’re sweeping the contents into the bin, a loud knock comes at your door.

You waffle between your two options, and the more dominant part of you wins over as you choose to ignore it. They’ll go away. What kind of person even comes out in this kind of weather? All of your lights, save for a wall lamp in the corner of your living room, are turned off, so there’s no reason for anyone to know you’re home. A feeling of panic spreads throughout you as the knocking continues, and rather than dying down, it increases in volume and strength.

You fumble blindly, searching for your knife block, and manage to pull out the weakest, dullest knife you own. Trembling, you walk to the door and look through the peephole. It’s much too dark to properly make out the dark figure, and as soon as you move to ignore it again, a voice calls out,

“It’s me!”

Your heart is kicked into overdrive. The rain, along with the knowledge that he lives eight hours away from you, clouds your willingness to believe that he’s really here. Yet, as he calls out again in that same, drained voice, you’re certain. You fumble with the chain on the door, hardly able to open it with how much your fingers are shaking. As soon as you open the door, you’re met with the sight of Ayato, who looks like he’s been run through the mill. His hair sticks to his cheeks, plastered to his face from the downpour. His clothes are soaked, and the tight black pants cling to his thighs, making you focus on something that you shouldn’t be focusing on right now. Your gaze trails to his eyes. The lack of light, along with his obvious rage, drain any warmth from his usually bright blue eyes and for a moment, he doesn’t look like himself. Before you have much of a chance to say anything, he speaks.

“Is he here right now?”

Despite the fact that it’s a question, it lacks the inflection. It’s more or less an accusation than an actual inquiry, and your mouth feels like cotton as you respond with,

“No.”

Ayato steps inside, towering over you, causing raindrops to drip from his face onto yours. His cold, numb fingers find your wrists, and he pins you against the wall, holding your hands above your head. He presses his body into yours, and you shriek at the frigid feeling. He’s soaked to the bone and frozen, but none of that seems to matter when his lips find your neck. Your shock at the cold dissolves into a low, unmistakable moan, and Ayato pauses in his ministrations to chuckle, the sound lifeless and void of actual humor.

“I’m the only one that can make you feel like this,” he purrs, and it’s the first time since he’s been here that he sounds alive. “I’m the only one, do you hear me?”

“Y-Yes, Ay-Ayato, I don’t –“

“Don’t say anything.” He demands, releasing your wrists to bring his hand down, tucking your chin between his index finger and thumb. “Do you have ANY fucking idea about how much I’ve been missing you? Do you know what the fuck it feels like to get a call from you ending things like that, then being ignored? Do you?”

“I –“

“And then come to find you’ve found someone you think is better for you. I say that’s bullshit. Can he do this?”

Ayato impatiently shoves your thin pajama pants down and begins rubbing you through your panties. You’ve missed the feeling of him touching you, and it’s been forever that you’ve actually seen him face to face, so you can’t help but allow a loud, needy whine go. It’s all the fuel Ayato needs to keep going. He shoves your panties to the side and rubs circles against your clit, leaning in to suck on your neck, leaving behind blossoming red marks. You tilt your head back at the feeling of him easing his index finger inside of you, stroking your textured walls and crooking it.

“I bet he doesn’t even let you finish first,” Ayato growls against your neck. “Can he make you come like I do? Answer me.”

“Ayato, I can’t – “

“I said answer me, goddammit!”

It’s at that moment that he shoves two fingers inside of you, and you can barely hold yourself up, let alone answer his question. Your head clouds with the absolute bliss you’re experiencing, and in a strained, barely audible voice, you say,

“It’s you, it’s only you.”

You’re too weak to deny him.

“You’re fucking right it’s only me.” He hisses.

He moves his lips from your neck to your jaw, then covers your mouth with his own. He drags his teeth along your plump bottom lip, pressing against your clit with his thumb. You can feel his tongue pressing against the seam of your lips and you part your own, sighing into his mouth. He shoves three fingers inside of you, tongue roaming as he kisses you like you’re the oxygen he needs to breathe. You feel something wet against your face, and you’re not sure if it’s the rain, your own tears, or his.

You’re left with no time to actual ponder those thoughts, because Ayato pulls away from you, fingers slipping free. You whine at the loss, feeling incredibly empty in more ways than one, but you’re not left wanting for long.

“You’re soaking wet,” Ayato comments crudely, words dripping with innuendo as he plucks at the thin strap of your top. “Take your fucking clothes off.”

You’re too turned on to protest, and if it lets you feel him against you sooner, you’re in no position to object. You step out of your panties and bottoms and yank your shirt over your head, dropping the offending garment to the floor. Ayato shucks his boots off and shrugs out of his jacket, but he’s still more clothed than you need right now. You reach out to help him take his shirt off, but he grabs your hand to stop you.

“Lie down on the fucking floor.”

You obey, watching with interest as Ayato divests himself of his shirt. His chest glistens, and your eyes wander over his stomach, swallowing at the sight of his leanly muscled midsection. He peels his pants off, and you feel a pang in your chest when you think back to days of teasing him for wearing them too tight.

“How does he touch you?” Ayato cuts through your memories, and you’ve almost forgotten the reason you fabricated for breaking up with him.

“H-He,” you falter, unable to answer in your lust-filled haze.

All you can think of is Ayato and how you can’t believe he’s there, real and right in front of you.

“Is his tongue as good as mine?” Ayato asks, and his voice is much softer compared to before as he kneels down and lightly strokes your waist with his fingertips.

Like before, Ayato doesn’t give you a chance to answer before he takes matters into his own hands. He pries your legs apart and wastes no time in burying his face between them, his warm tongue assaulting your dripping cunt with no prelude or forwarning. Your thighs clamp against his wet head, trapping him there, and he chuckles. The vibrations against you cause your back to arch, and Ayato flicks his tongue against you as he brings his fingers back into the mix. He keeps that up, drinking in your long, drawn out moans, but stops after a few moments of his sweet torture.

“My name. Say my fucking name or I’m stopping.

“Ay-“

“Moan it. Scream it. Beg me until you’re fucking hoarse, but it better be my name.”

“Ayato,” You say softly, your soft voice a heavy contrast to his firm, angry sounding tone.

“Ayato, what? Tell me what I do to you. Tell me what you want.” He’s aiming to sound demanding, but his voice edges on desperate. It kills you.

“Please, Ayato, please fuck me. Fuck me right now, I can’t take this anymore. Please.”

The sound of you begging rings in his ears, and for a second, his hardened expression melts. You don’t get to see his face for much longer, because he’s looking down to rid himself of his boxers. He buries his face into your neck, sinking his teeth into the cold flesh as he crams himself inside of you. He gives you barely any time to adjust before he’s moving. His hips snap against yours, pistoning inside of you at a breakneck speed, and you drag your nails down his back. He’s hell bent on marking you up, making sure everyone knows that you are HIS, leaving behind teethmarks and hickeys that are going to look ten times worse in the morning than they do now.

“Ayato!”

“Louder!”

You practically scream his name as he fucks you into the floor, setting a rhythm that you don’t even dare try to keep up with. Your fingernails rake down his back, and he hisses in a mixture of pain and pleasure. He doesn’t complain because for the first time in a week, he feels something.

“Who do you belong to?” He demands, his voice cutting through your moans. “Who the fuck do you belong to?”

“Y-ou!” You groan, pressing your hands even harder into his back. “I’m yours!”

He slams inside of you, and your gaze goes pitch black for a few moments. Every ounce of energy is drained from your body as you seize up, coming harder than you’ve ever come in your life. The feeling of you clenching around him sends Ayato over the edge, and he rides out your orgasms with four last, erratic, sloppy thrusts. His head falls slack against your shoulder, and you feel that same wetness from before on your skin.

“Th-There was no other guy,” you mutter in a hoarse voice, piercing the silence.

“What?”

“I – I didn’t want to hold you back.” You admit, timidly reaching up to stroke his damp hair. “I don’t want to be the reason you don’t live your life.”

It’s silent for a moment until Ayato raises his head to look at you.

“You are really fucking stupid.”

“Wh-“

“I love you, do you not understand that? I don’t fucking care if you live in the middle of East Jesus nowhere, you’re my girlfriend and I fucking care about you. You don’t get to decide how I live my fucking life.”

“I –“

“You had me worried fucking sick for an entire week, going over different murder plans, and now you’re telling me you made it up because you thought it was what was best for me?”

“I’m sorry.” You say in a small voice, turning your head to the side to avoid his gaze. “I just – I felt –“

He grabs your chin and forces you to look at him. He studies your expression for a second before he leans in and gives you the sweetest kiss you’ve had since he got there. Opposed to the rough, almost punishing sense from before, his lips are soft and slow. He breaks away and smooths your hair away from your face.

“It’s you and me, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“I – I don’t want to lose you, either.”

He pulls away from you to stand, barely able to hold himself up with his trembling legs. Somehow, he manages to scoop you up into his arms, and by some miracle, makes it to the bathroom without dropping you or falling flat on his face. He turns the shower on, and when steam begins billowing in the room, he pulls you in. You spend the next fifteen minutes, soaping each other’s backs, sharing chaste, slow kisses, and warming your bodies. You thank him for saving yourselves from a possible case of pneumonia. He just snorts and tells you to turn around so he can rinse you off.

You tuck away in your bed after you’ve dried off, and Ayato pulls you into his arms. As you’re blinking, trying to fight off sleep before it claims you, Ayato speaks.

“I got a job down here, I’m rooming with you, dumbass.”


End file.
